Qualm
by Frost Deejn
Summary: Is a relic hunter nothing more than a glorified grave robber? Sydney has a crisis of conscience at a dangerous time. Can Nigel save her life and her soul...and maybe win her heart while he's at it?


Disclaimer: I don't own _Relic Hunter_, and I am in no way profiting from it.

Author's notes: The Rahama'a and the Mask of the Sun are inventions of my own imagination, but rongorongo tablets are real. And even though this is Sydney/Nigel shippy, I want to make it clear that Sydney _totally_ doesn't deserve Nigel. If I were her I would have asked him out by the end of the first episode. My only conclusion, since she doesn't seem to be a lesbian, is that she's an idiot.

Qualm

The Andes Mountains loomed ahead of them like the ancient gods of the land legend held them to be. Ominous mammatus clouds hung low in the sky, threatening to rain on the cool, humid morning.

A rocky ostensible footpath wound its way through the splotchy trees and boulders up the slope. Two people made their way along this path. They were suitably dressed for the terrain, and were both obviously used to this sort of thing. The one in the lead, a striking woman with dark hair and tan skin, frequently paused to check her GPS receiver.

"We're getting close. Not even a half mile as the crow flies."

"Too bad we're not crows," said her companion, an attractive, smallish man with brown hair and a British accent that sounded scholarly without making him seem arrogant. His voice betrayed that he was slightly more exerted than his companion.

"Do you want a rest?" she asked.

"No, I'm fine." Though he admired her endurance as much as he admired everything else about her, she sometimes made him feel inadequate. He desperately wanted her respect, though he would have preferred her love. So he pushed himself on, sometimes well past the point of exhaustion.

Professor Sydney Fox walked a few more meters before stopping to scan the landscape. "I wish I knew who sent us that message," she mumbled.

Sometimes Nigel Bailey, Professor Fox's teaching assistant, had the impression that his boss just talked to herself while he happened to be within earshot. Though he knew he too was guilty of that, it became yet another thing that frustrated him about her. He occasionally wondered why he didn't ask for a transfer. That probably would have been the wisest course of action, and less painful in the long run than following his unrequited love across the planet on her single-minded quests for valuable artifacts, but he could never bring himself to go through with it. He rationalized that working with the renowned Sydney Fox was good for his career, and that she might feel betrayed if he abandoned her (provided she even noticed), but in blatant truth he was just too in love with her.

"I would rather know what will be waiting for us at this 'Temple of the Setting Sun.' If it even exists."

"Don't be such a pessimist, Nigel," Sydney said good-naturedly. "And just think, if it does turn out to be a hoax, we can probably catch some skiing before we fly back to the states."

"Lucky us," he muttered.

A few steps farther on, Nigel tripped. He spat out a double expletive as he went down.

"Are you alright?" Sydney asked with sincere concern.

Nigel looked back at the tangle of vines that had snagged his foot. "I think I might have jarred my ankle. I'll be fine in a minute." He pushed himself to a sitting position, struggled to his feet, shook off the vines, and tried to take a step. His foot slipped out from under him and only Sydney's quick intervention kept him from landing on the ground again. He limped to a nearby tree and leaned against its trunk. "I'll be alright in a minute," he repeated. "Keep going, I'll catch up to you."

"I'll stay with you," she insisted, though he could tell she was itching to uncover this mystery.

"No. Don't worry, Sydney, I can take care of myself for five minutes. Go on."

"Are you sure?" She glanced longingly up the trail.

"Yes. Go."

Though she knew it wasn't wise to split up, Sydney's curiosity once again overcame her common sense. "Okay. I'll shout for you when I find the temple." She barely waited for his acknowledgement before she was back on the path.

* * *

Sydney reviewed the circumstances that brought her to this desolate corner of Chile: nearly a week earlier, a letter had come to her office, addressed to both her and Nigel. Written at the top were the GPS coordinates she was approaching. Beneath this was a simple, hand-scrawled message:

"The Old Ones wish now to return to Light. Only one loving Knowledge purely may take hold of the greatest Treasure and open the doors to the Ancient World. The Temple of the Setting Sun, where its last rays shone, will be the place that the dark of the past begins to be pushed back."

It didn't take long before Sydney found the Temple of the Setting Sun. It was a stone building in a style reminiscent of Tiahuanaco, but on a much smaller scale. The only entrance to the structure faced due west. Sydney pulled out the flashlight as she entered the cave-like hallway. She kept her eyes out for booby traps, as always.

"Hello?" she called. "Anyone here?"

An ancient silence answered her.

The hallway opened out into a low room. At the far end was what looked like an altar. When she got close enough to see what was on it, she gasped. "The Priest of the Sun!" she whispered aloud. Her eyes traced over the richly-adorned skeleton. The priest's garb was woven of the finest alpaca wool, embroidered with gold wire in esoteric patterns. The skull was covered with a gold mask inlaid with carnelian pebbles in patterns representing the Sun. Spanish conquistadors had written about that gold mask, but it disappeared along with the last Sun Priest after the Spanish slaughtered the insubordinate Rahama'a tribe. Also on the table were Nasca pottery and pre-Incan Peruvian jewelry. The temple seemed to have served as a kind of museum in its own right.

Sydney pulled out her camera and started snapping pictures of the altar. Then she reached out and gently lifted the mask.

A scraping noise from below alerted her that something was wrong. Only too late did she notice that the mask was attached to a chain that went down through the skull of the priest and a hole in the rock of the altar to something beneath the floor: a booby trap.

"Nigel!" she yelled as the floor retracted from beneath her feet. She desperately clung on to the rim of the altar. Her feet scrambled in vain to find purchase on the vertical stone.

She heard footsteps behind her, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Nigel, help me out."

The footsteps stopped at the side of the pit. She looked up to see not Nigel, but an elderly Native American man.

He leaned across the altar and grabbed her hands. "You chose wrong," he said sadly. That was when Sydney saw a small shelf, tucked inconspicuously in a corner of the room, where a single wooden tablet rested, and felt in her heart the word the old man hissed in her ear right before letting her fall. "_Desecrater!_"

Sydney didn't even scream as the dark of the pit enveloped her.

* * *

Nigel's ankle was still hurting, but at least he could walk on it. And he knew he would have to walk fast to catch up with Sydney. The path became even more difficult when thick, heavy raindrops began spilling from the sky.

He spotted a stone building up ahead, quite likely their Temple of the Setting Sun. "Sydney?" he called into the dark interior. There was no answer.

He turned on his flashlight. Its beam seemed weak and small, serving only to reduce the gloom, not dispel it. He turned it to illuminate the walls as he cautiously made his way into the Temple. The grey walls were bare, but seemed infused with ageless numen.

The walls pulled away from the flashlight beam. Nigel swept the light across the room, looking for any sign of his boss. "Sydney?" he said again. He stepped into the room. The glint of the golden mask of the Sun Priest caught the light, but he missed Sydney's fallen flashlight and camera.

Then he saw the smaller altar in the corner of the room. He recognized the wooden tablet immediately, but he could hardly believe his eyes, and couldn't even begin to comprehend the ramifications of its presence. "I don't believe it!" he gasped aloud. "A rongorongo tablet!" He walked towards it slowly, transfixed. The shadows from the flashlight cast the graceful, enigmatic characters of the rongorongo script in sharp relief. "This proves the Rapa Nui had contact with South America," he whispered, still in awe.

"It does considerably more than that," said a resonant, musical voice behind him.

Nigel turned. The circle of light revealed a craggy, deeply lined, dignified face framed by long white hair.

"Who are you?" Nigel asked.

"My name is not important. I am the last living member of the Rahama'a. We came from Rapa Nui many, many generations ago, bringing our knowledge with us. But now I am dying, and I do not want that knowledge to die with me. That is why I sent the letter inviting you here."

"You know how to read this?" Linguists had been trying to decipher the few remaining rongorongo tablets for decades.

"Look on the back."

Nigel gingerly lifted the heavy wooden slab. On the other side he saw words written lightly in pencil.

"A translation," the old man explained.

"A Rosetta Stone," Nigel breathed.

"It is yours. You have chosen wisely, and proven that you love knowledge over all else."

"'Only one loving knowledge purely may take hold of the greatest treasure and open the doors to the ancient world,'" he quoted from the letter. He felt elated and humbled to be holding that key. "Where's Sydney?" he asked, finally remembering why he was there.

The old man sounded mournful, and maybe a little disappointed. "She chose wrong."

"What do you mean, 'she chose wrong'?"

"She chose the grave."

Nigel flinched. "She's dead?"

"I don't believe she's dead yet," he replied. "She chose the grave."

Realizing the double meaning of the words, Nigel turned the flashlight on the altar with the priest's body. This time he saw the camera. He walked to it as quickly as he could and looked around for a clue to what happened. "Where is she?"

"I couldn't allow anyone who would rob or exploit my people to find the tablet," the man explained.

"'Rob or exploit'…There's been some mistake. Sydney is not a grave robber; she's devoted her life to preserving and understanding the past."

"Then why did she choose the grave over the tablet?"

"She must have…I don't know. But she is _not_ a grave robber!"

"If there was a mistake," the elder explained patiently, "it was hers to make. As with all wrongdoers, she was the agent of her own destruction."

Nigel examined the offerings on the altar, searching for anything that could have triggered a booby trap. After consideration, it struck him that it had to be the gold mask. He reached for it.

"I hope you don't do that," said the elder. "If you touch that, you will not have chosen knowledge. You will share your friend's fate and the secret of the rongorongo will be lost to the world forever."

Nigel paused. If he returned with the equivalent of the Rosetta Stone for the rongorongo, he would become the most celebrated epigrapher in the world. More importantly, the lost civilization of the Rapa Nui—their history, their beliefs, their customs—would finally be revealed. The value to the knowledge of the world was incalculable. Priceless.

But it wasn't worth a life.

"I choose Sydney," Nigel declared defiantly. He grasped the mask firmly and lifted it from its place.

The next thing he knew, Nigel was falling. First stone, then mud rushed past in the light of his flashlight. He splattered into dark, frigid mud at the bottom. He managed to retrieve his flashlight before it got lost in a murky pool, but the fall had damaged it. It sputtered nobly for a moment, then shorted out.

After experimentally hitting it a few times, Nigel put away the flashlight and tried to feel around with his hands. His finger brushed across something round and smooth. It took him a moment to realize it was a human skull. He could feel bones crunch in the mud beneath his feet.

"Sydney!" he called. "Sydney?"

There was no answer.

As his eyes adjusted, Nigel saw a dim grey glow in the distance. He followed it. Finally he found its source: a small crack in the ground about six meters above the subterranean mire. Rainwater pored down the wall, carrying black mud with it.

"Sydney?" He hoped she had found her way out before the rain started; climbing the muddy wall would be almost impossible.

Then he heard someone take a raspy breath, someone in the shadows nearby. He followed the sound.

Sydney sat in the rising water. Nigel fell to his knees in front of her. "Sydney…are you hurt?"

She whimpered in answer. Nigel realized she wasn't injured, she was crying. He'd never seen her look so vulnerable, and it distressed him.

"What happened? Sydney, what's wrong?"

"I chose wrong," she whispered. "I went for the gold…I'm nothing more than a grave robber."

"No. You're not. Sydney, you're a historian, a professor. You try to uncover the past and share it with the world. And you're the best at what you do. That's the opposite of a grave robber."

"I tried to take the mask, Nigel."

A part of the ground above them collapsed, sliding to the muddy water. Sydney didn't even react, nor did she seem to notice the rain that now assailed her in an unrelenting deluge, or the quickly-rising, chilly water.

"You didn't try to take it," he argued. "You picked it up out of curiosity and amazement. It was a natural reaction. You don't have to die for it!"

Her eyes widened as if the thought of death had just occurred to her. "Nigel, you have to get out of here. It's not too late for you. Go."

"And leave you? Not a chance, Professor."

"Don't you understand? I chose riches over knowledge. I am everything I've always despised."

"NO YOU'RE NOT!" He yelled. "Trust me, Sydney. I know you better than anyone, I know who and what you are, and I know you deserve to live!"

She shook her head. "No. No, Nigel. I did what I always do: took an artifact for my own purposes…for my own personal gain. But not you; you're a linguist, an epigrapher. You don't look for riches, you look for knowledge."

"Then for _my_ sake, we have to get out of here. I don't think I can escape without you…and I wouldn't even if I could."

"What makes you so convinced I'm worth saving?" she asked miserably.

"Because I know you…And I love you."

Her eyes widened. Her mouth parted slightly. Drops of rainwater slid down her soaked face and hair. She looked at Nigel like she'd never seem anything like him before. How could she have been so blind for so long? How could she have overlooked how handsome he was? Not tall, dark, and tough, like what she always considered her type. Better. He was brilliant, kind, devoted…How could she have not realized his perfection?

And he loved her. That had to mean she was worth something.

"Nigel…" Salty tears mixed with the rain. He wrapped his arms around her. She buried her head in his shoulder.

Nigel held her for a moment, trying to warm her and reassure her. He kissed her hair, then her forehead. She looked up at him, and he gently kissed her lips. When he pulled back, Sydney slowly opened her eyes. She wasn't weeping anymore.

"Let's get out of here," she suggested.

They both stood up and looked around for a way out. After a minute, Sydney waded a little way down the corridor, looked up through the expanding hole in the ceiling, walked back, and plunged her hands into the muddy wall. "Found it!" she triumphantly declared a minute later.

"Found what?"

"A…ufff…tree root."

Nigel went to her and helped her push dirt away until the thick root was partially exposed. By then, the water had risen nearly to their necks. Sydney took as firm a hold as she could on the root and used it to like a rope. When she'd climbed as high as she could, she dug away more mud to expose more of the root. The cascading rain was helping her efforts, but also making the root slick.

By that time, Nigel was treading water. He knew if they didn't get out soon, hypothermia would become an issue.

Sydney was burrowing deeper into the dirt wall. Suddenly, the ground above her gave way, crashing down on top of her. Part of it broke off and slid into the water, making waves that crashed over Nigel's head.

He spat out muddy water, then wiped it off his eyes. "Sydney!" he screeched.

She didn't answer. He couldn't see her. He swam to the tree root, climbed up until he found the spot where she had been, then dug through the mud frantically. He felt her arm, and worked quickly to free her, while he grasped their lifeline as tightly as he could between his legs.

Sydney move, trying to dislodge herself. Then she burst out and started slipping down the slope. Nigel grabbed her arm before she could fall back to the water. She spat out mud, then gasped a breath.

"Come on," Nigel grunted as he pulled her up to where she could get a hold on the root. They progressed slowly, finding footholds on the slick and shifting wall. But a few minutes later, they reached the top.

They collapsed side-by-side on the wet grass and panted in exhaustion.

Sydney shifted to her side and looked at Nigel. He turned his head toward her. She reached out and cupped his cheek in her hand.

If she kissed him now, she wondered, would he think it was just out of gratitude that he saved her life? But if she didn't kiss him, would he think she was offended by his admission?

She didn't have time to decide. Nigel sat up. "Can you walk?" he inquired softly.

"I think so." She stood up, swayed slightly, and reached for him. "If you help me."

He took her hand and put her arm around his shoulder. Sydney didn't usually like admitting weakness, but now with Nigel it didn't bother her.

They found the Temple of the Setting Sun. They went inside to rest and to get out of the rain. The mysterious elder and the rongorongo tablet were gone, but the Sun Priest and his grave goods still adorned the altar, as did Sydney's camera and flashlight.

"How _did_ you find me?" Sydney asked Nigel.

He told her what happened to him and what the old man told him.

"I'm sorry you had to give up the rongorongo for me," Sydney said when he finished. "That must have been hard."

"Not really," he replied. "You were worth it. Besides, someone else will find that tablet. Rongorongo will be deciphered eventually."

"And someone else will get the glory for it."

Nigel made a dismissive gesture. "Let them. Having the privilege of working with you is enough glory for me."

Sydney looked away. "I almost wish you didn't work with me."

At first, he was too hurt to speak, then he squeaked out, "Why?"

"There's a policy against having relationships with colleagues."

This startled him. "Sydney," he said, "you don't have to…I mean…I don't expect you…"

"Nigel," she interrupted, "I want to." She realized something. "I love you too."

"Since when?"

"Since I got some sense knocked into me a few minutes ago. And this isn't just the near-death experience talking. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. Which is why I wish it wasn't inappropriate to have a relationship with someone I work with."

He didn't know what to say. "I won't tell if you don't," he hazarded.

She laughed, then kissed him deliberately and passionately.

"How about we get back to civilization?" she suggested. "There's a hot shower, a four-star restaurant, and a king-sized bed waiting for us at our hotel."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

By that time, the rain had stopped. The Sun was setting. Its fiery rays gave the churning black clouds the look of fading embers, glowed pink-gold on the snow-capped mountains, traveled down the hallway of the ancient temple to illuminate its inner sanctum, and lit the path and hearts of the friends-turned-lovers as they made their way down the mountain.

The End


End file.
